


the danger of intimacy

by pyrrhic_victory



Series: dangerous sentiments [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Addiction, First Kiss, First Time, Garak's usual paranoia and fear of intimacy, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e22 The Wire, slight references to ASIT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21841537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victory/pseuds/pyrrhic_victory
Summary: Garak apologises after the events of The Wire, and Julian invites him in for dinner. Neither of them can decide whether this is a good idea.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: dangerous sentiments [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576258
Comments: 40
Kudos: 305





	the danger of intimacy

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted some tender Garak/Bashir where they're flirting, trying to figure out their feelings and getting together all at the same time, so here it is.  
> Note the tags - there is talk of addiction + some reference to self-harm & scars here. I think Garak could have caused himself pain to trigger the implant before figuring out how to activate it remotely.

Julian had been reading another of Garak’s literary recommendations when the door chimed. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, and glanced around at his quarters as if to look for clues before answering. 

“Come in?” 

The doors slid open, revealing someone entirely unexpected, but who based so much of his personality on being unexpected that perhaps Julian should have expected it by now. 

“Garak.” He put down his padd and stood. Garak looked normal. He was dying three days ago, he was suffering through agonising withdrawal three days ago, and now he looked like none of it had ever happened. “Has something happened? You’re supposed to see me tomorrow morning, aren’t you?”

“I’m perfectly fine, doctor, this is not a medical emergency. Do you have a few minutes? There are a few things I’d like to say, but only if you’re not otherwise indisposed.” 

“Oh, I was just reading that book you gave me.”

Garak inclined his head. “ _Meditations on a Crimson Shadow._ Are you enjoying it?”

Julian grimaced. “Too early to say,” he said, with a tone that said he wasn’t enjoying it even remotely. Garak nodded seriously. He looked like he was thinking, pacing himself, building up to something. 

“I heard you recently took a trip to the Arawath Colony,” he ventured. 

Damn. He hadn’t actually told Garak how he’d synthesised his leukocytes. He hadn’t wanted to tell him that Tain had been involved at all, not after the things he said about him. 

“Where did you hear that?” 

“I have my sources.” He did that enigmatic smile, but then it fell, became more worried. “I suppose there’s no need for me to elucidate just how reckless that particular trip was.”

“Not really. I had a pretty good idea of the risks when I went.” He hadn’t had sufficient data to calculate accurate percentages, but the outlook hadn’t been good. 

Garak tilted his head curiously. “And yet you went anyway.” He took a breath, weighing up his next words, and looked straight into Julian’s eyes when he spoke. “I owe you my life.” 

Julian‘s eyes widened and he felt his brow crease in surprise. He had not expected that. Garak had seemed eager to go straight back to normal without acknowledging anything when they shared lunch in the Replimat. He’d handed over _Meditations on a Crimson Shadow_ \- which Julian was now suffering through - with a maddening conversation about lies, and that had been that. 

“You don’t owe me anything, Garak. I was doing my job, like I would for anyone else.” 

“I highly doubt they prepared you for Enabran Tain at Starfleet Medical. And regardless, I do owe you. Several things, in fact. The first of which is my thanks. The second is an apology.” 

Another surprise. Garak did not seem the apologetic sort. He said what he wanted to say, and generally people disliked what he wanted to say, and generally he ignored it. None of this was fitting into the mental framework Julian had tried to construct to help him figure out the question of Garak. He sensed Julian’s surprise and smiled a bit self-deprecatingly. 

“The way I treated you at the worst of my condition was...regrettable. I don’t recall much of it very well - perhaps a fortunate situation on my part, given the circumstances - but I do know that I was unpleasant to be around, and that I became violent with you. I...” He hesitated. “I apologise that you had to see that side of me.” 

Though it was often difficult to tell with Garak, Julian thought that he was being sincere; as sincere as he knew how to be, anyway. There had been a reason he’d asked Julian for his forgiveness, in the end. 

“Garak...you’re already forgiven,” he said, because it was true. He’d forgiven him then, on what Garak thought was his deathbed. “Increased aggression is a very common reaction to withdrawal. Your brain chemistry was all over the place, and you weren’t in your right mind.” 

Even as he said it, he wondered whether that part was really true. Sometimes the truth of people is in how they behave when they’re pushed to extremes. 

“Still.” Garak glanced around and squinted a little. “It was rather unpleasant for us both. The third thing I owe you is a debt. I take my debts very seriously, doctor. If you should find yourself in need of a man with my skills, you need only ask.”

Julian thought about telling Garak it was fine and he owed him nothing, but he hesitated. Garak had come to him specifically to say this, and it looked like it was difficult for him. An overture of friendship, maybe, to smooth over the hateful things he’d said before. Julian didn’t want to refuse that. And to have a spy in his debt- to be able to ask his help if some espionage-related emergency took place on the station...

”I know who to go to if I need a new pair of trousers,” he said. Garak bowed his head with a wide smile. 

“How was Tain? Well, I hope?” Garak asked, deliberately casual as he fixed his gaze on the mess of Julian’s quarters rather than looking straight at him. 

“I didn’t like him very much.”

“No. I don’t suppose you would. Did he have anything to say?” 

Julian hesitated, reluctant. He’d been avoiding this conversation for exactly that reason. Garak clearly idolised the man, and he’d been so cruel about him that Julian couldn’t make himself pass on any of it. 

“Ah, let me guess. He only helped you because for me, living in exile is worse than death.” Garak didn’t seem surprised. In fact, the way he said it sounded almost fond, with a smile that curled the corner of his mouth. 

“How could you possibly know that?” 

“Oh, that’s just his way of showing he cares.” 

As with most things Garak said, Julian had absolutely no idea how to read that. Tain was certainly a match for Garak’s imperceptibility, though he was calmer, more understated in his manipulations.

“He said to tell you he misses you,” he reluctantly added, in case that meant more to Garak than it had to him, too.

Garak froze, just for a second, just long enough for Julian to see that it hurt. 

“He did, did he?” A hint of something vulnerable behind his conversational, deliberately jovial voice. Funny, how he could smile fondly at blatant cruelty, yet this was the thing that seemed to breach his defences. 

“Is it?” Julian asked, after a moment, feeling out of his element in a world of pain and betrayal he didn’t understand, and wasn’t allowed to understand. 

“I’m sorry?” Garak cleared his face and turned to look at him expectantly. 

“Worse than death, I mean.” 

There was a painful silence. Julian couldn’t imagine being so miserable about being away from home. He didn’t miss Earth or his parents terribly, but Garak... 

He often overemphasised his obedient, dutiful service to the wishes of Central Command as an inside joke, but he seemed to truly love Cardassia itself. And he could never go home again. He’d become dependent on a constant rush of endorphins just to tolerate living on the station. He’d called it torture. 

Garak eventually offered a bland smile. “Believe it or not, I have been known to exaggerate. Dying on this station would be a great deal worse than living on it. I haven’t given up just yet. Thanks to you, I might add.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Julian emphatically said. Garak tilted his head, analysing him oddly, and squinted a little again. Julian realised what he’d forgotten.

“Oh! Computer, lights to sixty percent. Raise temperature by seven degrees.” 

The lights fell and warmth slowly crept up his back. Garak looked nothing short of alarmed. 

“You needn’t make yourself uncomfortable on my behalf, doctor, not least in your own quarters.” 

“Don’t be silly, I’m not uncomfortable,” he reassured him, putting his hand on Garak’s shoulder. Something occurred to him then. “And you can call me Julian, you know. It’s been two years.” 

That surprised him. There was a cautious smile hidden behind his cool blue eyes.

“Julian,” he repeated, uncertain. 

There had always been something about those eyes. The bright colour of them amongst the grey of his face, below the shadowing brow ridges. The sharp intelligence in them that was so different to his own, so unintelligible. The passion in them that he hid behind bland smiles until it exploded out of him in a rage, or something else...

Garak blinked and looked away. He’d been staring. They’d both been staring. Julian dropped his hand from the cool shoulder like it burned. 

“Well, I’d better leave you to your reading.”

“Oh. Right. Um.” 

“Good evening.” 

The doors slid open, and Garak turned. 

“Wait.” He didn’t know what he was going to say right up until the moment that he said it. “Um- have you eaten yet?” 

Garak glanced around like he was searching for booby traps in the conversation. “No. I confess my appetite isn’t quite what it was yet. Though if one chooses to be optimistic, fewer meals would probably a good thing for my figure.” 

“But a bad thing for your health,” Julian firmly said. 

“Perhaps if there is anything to be learned from this unfortunate episode, it is that I am not always the best judge of what is good for my health,” Garak conceded, still suspicious. “That is why it’s helpful to be friends with a talented doctor such as yourself, of course.” 

“Exactly,” Julian said. “I was just about to make myself some dinner, actually. I’ll replicate you something.” He gestured back at the table, feeling himself shake slightly from the nerves of what he’d suddenly decided to do.

Garak tilted his head and his mouth opened in surprise. “Are you feeling quite well?” 

“Perfectly. Please, sit down. Unless you have other plans?” 

“Not at all. If that’s what the doctor orders.” 

It was odd having Garak sitting in his quarters. Almost as odd as sitting in Garak’s. Before this week, Garak had only been here that night he’d insisted on taking them to Bajor (at least, Julian hoped that was the only time). That all made a bit more sense when he realised Garak had been riding a constant high by that point. A lot of Garak’s behaviour made a bit more sense, actually. But thinking about it just made him sad. He’d been struggling with an addiction for two years, and he was so isolated and secretive that no-one had even noticed.

“I don’t suppose your replicator produces kanar?” Garak hopefully asked, still looking somewhat confused by his presence here. Julian frowned. Addicts have a 40-60% chance of relapse within a year.

“If it did, I wouldn’t serve it to you so soon after withdrawal, Garak.”

“I see.” The words were cold, but then Garak sighed and waved a hand in concession. “Ah, well. One ought not to swap one kind of false happiness for another, I suppose.” 

Julian set down two bowls of Vulcan stew he’d once heard Garak compliment in the Replimat, and sat down opposite him at the table.

“Be careful, that’s all I meant. Have you considered speaking to a counsellor?” He asked, knowing already what the response would be. Garak rolled his eyes.

“I do not need to be dissected by some insipid Federation psychologist, thank you very much. As if a human could possibly hope to understand the intricacies of the Cardassian mind.” 

“I wouldn’t dare try.” 

With the dim lights and added warmth, and without the bustle of people around them on the promenade, sharing a meal had suddenly become more intimate. Not to mention that it was dinner. Well, that had been the point of this idea, but now he had to live with cool eyes watching across the table and he wasn’t sure he hadn’t gone mad.

He ate his soup hurriedly for something to do while found something else to say. 

“It was personal with you and Tain, wasn’t it? He was the one who exiled you.” 

Garak spooned stew into his mouth and swallowed carefully before answering. 

“Why, Julian, I almost wonder whether I have any secrets left,” he said, with a cryptic smile.

“Oh, don’t worry. You’re still more mystery than man, Elim.” 

The unguarded surprise on Garak’s face was worth the whole unpleasantness of talking to Tain. If he’d been any less put-together and precise as a person, he might have choked on his stew. But because he was Garak and nothing ever seemed to knock him wholly off course, he simply put down his spoon and dabbed his mouth with the napkin, regarding Julian with a look almost like admiration. 

“He told you, I suppose.” 

“You don’t think I could have worked it out by myself?” 

“Did you?” 

“Why don’t you let me be the mysterious one for a change?” 

“I’ve always found that calling oneself mysterious rather ruins the effect.”

“Almost as much as pretending you don’t even have a first name,” Julian pointed out.

“Perhaps it is different in your culture, but I dislike the use of first names except between family, intimate friends and lovers.“

Right, because Garak had no family here, no intimate friends and no- Julian choked, coughed, and tried to pass it off as a chunk of Vulcan stew going down the wrong way. Garak watched him with that look, the one where he was silently laughing and his eyes were sharp and fond at the same time. The end of that sentence hovered over him, smiling very much like Garak was smiling. 

“So it’s...intimate, then?”

“Precisely.“ 

He‘d given Julian something, some small part of himself that no-one else on the station knew. And it had been obscured by lies and obfuscation, obviously, but it had been there. Something intimate.

“Nothing’s ever straightforward with you, is it?” 

“Does it bother you?” 

“What?”

“Intimacy, Julian.” 

Julian licked a bit of nonexistent stew from his lip and Garak wasn’t even subtle about watching.

“No. No, not at all.” 

There was a brief moment where Julian looked straight into his unblinking blue eyes and thought that for the first time in over a year, they were both thinking exactly the same thing. 

Garak broke the moment. He leaned forward, conspiratorial. 

“May I make an observation?” 

“You’ve never needed my permission before.”

“This particular observation is about you. It’s only polite to ask.”

Julian narrowed his eyes. “Observe away.” 

“I’ve noticed that your romantic endeavours on this station have been exclusively aimed at youthful, beautiful women.”

That was interesting. He’d been paying attention to Julian’s attempts at romance. Embarrassing, too, but interesting. There was a question in that, and Julian didn’t want to answer it just yet. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and put on a suspicious voice.

“I had no idea you were observing my romantic endeavours.” 

“Forgive me, but unless I elect to turn my addictive tendencies to gambling and waste all my latinum at the dabo tables, there’s not much else available to me here in the way of entertainment.” 

“ _Thank you_ , Garak. Another kind observation.” Garak nodded and smiled. How to proceed? Garak had been the one to take things in this direction. “You know, I haven‘t observed _you_ making any romantic endeavours,” Julian said. Garak raised his brow ridges innocently. 

“None at all?” He asked. “How disappointing. Perhaps it’s because I’m a Cardassian on a Bajoran space station. My options are rather limited.” 

“Or maybe you’re just very good at keeping a secret.” 

“A tailor must learn to be discreet about his customers’ measurements, of course.” 

Julian rolled his eyes fondly. “Of course.” 

“Perhaps the problem I’ve been having is that, like you, I’ve been endeavouring towards people who are uninterested. Or perhaps unobservant.” 

He was fairly sure Garak had been flirting with him since the moment he introduced himself. It seemed like a joke, like Garak was just amusing himself by flustering a younger man who was starstruck with the resident spy. And then the other half of the time he was arguing with him.

But Julian was reading his insufferable subtext correctly, it hadn’t been a joke at all.

_Which is it, Julian? Are you uninterested, or unobservant?_

And why now, after all this, was Julian finally prepared to give an answer?

“Maybe,” he started, trying to sound casual but making sure Garak was looking him in the eye, “they’re just cautious. After all, there are still rumours flying around that you‘re a spy. It might be dangerous to get involved with someone like that.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” Garak offered a sharp smile and returned to his stew. 

Julian ought to back off. Half of him screamed that Garak was dangerous, he’d just agreed as much himself. He’d seen it in the last two weeks. He’d seen him yell and throw things and claim to have done the most vile things in then name of his duty.

And he’d also seen him suffer through withdrawal, and cry, and beg forgiveness. 

What, out of all that, was the real Garak? All of it, if he was to be believed. Which he wasn’t, typically.

The other half of Julian, the more stupid half that he had a hard time ignoring, shrugged and said that the kind of things he wanted to do with Garak weren’t going to give away his genetic status or get him killed. The latent attraction he’d indulged but not pursued because Garak was too complicated and dangerous had grown more pressing somewhere in the past two weeks. It had grown much more pressing somewhere in the past ten minutes. 

“I don’t mind a bit of danger, you know,” he mildly said. “When it’s worth it.” 

Garak watched him, deliberately casual with his spoon resting motionless in his stew. “That is the question. Is it worth it?” 

Julian tried to keep his voice level. “I think so.”

“Ah, but you aren’t certain.” 

“Are you?” 

Garak tapped his finger on the side of his bowl, and the tiny motion in the corner of his eye suddenly absorbed all his attention. 

“Life is rarely certain,” Garak eventually said. “But perhaps I could do with a little excitement. The life of a tailor is a rather dull one.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “If the last ten days didn’t qualify as excitement, I’d like to see what does.”

That was a proposition, in hindsight. Garak’s brows raised, watching him. Dissecting him. Was that a flicker of fear he saw, before it was hidden away behind Garak’s usual mask?

Those extra seven degrees caught up to him all at once as Garak stood. He barely felt himself drift upwards with him, heart pounding, not quite sure of what he was about to do. The same uncertainty lined Garak’s face, too. This was a crossing of worlds which he had not truly anticipated before tonight, regardless of latent attraction.

A stalemate, for a painfully long few seconds that he couldn’t seem to measure. One of them would have to make a move, start a new game, lay out all the pieces again. Garak looked stuck, afraid. The mask had fallen and behind it was a mirror image of himself: an isolated man far from home, lonelier than he’d like to admit, afraid to reach out to something warm in case it burned. 

Julian kissed him.

Slowly, carefully, to tease him out of the nervous stillness that had taken over him. His lips were cool. And after a terrifying 2.3 seconds where the world went blank around him, Garak kissed back.

He was gentle, cautious, a bit unpracticed. The last time he’d been this close, Garak had thrown him over a table. The strength was there, Julian could feel dense muscles hidden beneath his soft clothes, but the way Garak touched him now it was as though he was afraid of hurting him, or that Julian would break away.

Julian pressed closer, slid his hand up into smooth, silky hair to keep him in place. His ridged nose bumped against Julian’s cheek once or twice and he grinned. 

“Something funny, doctor?” His voice was low and fond now, empty of its usual dramatics. 

“Is this not intimate enough- for you to call me- Julian?” He replied, between soft kisses. He may not have had much experience with men, or any with Cardassians, but he liked to think he could tell a few things from kissing someone. Right now, he could tell Garak hadn’t done this often, or if he had, he hadn’t done it in a long time. 

Somewhere along the way his hand had drifted from Garak’s hair to the parallel ridges that came from his ear, that he discovered were just the right shape to rest his thumb. Garak hummed with pleasure, a tiny sound at the back of his throat that made Julian’s breath quicken because it was so close.

It was getting very hot. 

Julian stripped off his jacket and undershirt and tossed it onto the sofa. 

“Fascinating,” Garak murmured, turning his attention from Julian’s lips to his exposed neck. “So unprotected. It’s a wonder your species survived.” He started just below his ear and trailed down, kissing and biting surprisingly gently, and Julian felt hands settle at his waist, stroking his skin curiously.

Julian slid his own hand under the hem of Garak’s shirt, brushing against the strange texture he found beneath. Rougher and more uneven than human skin, but just as pliant when he dug his fingers in. He pulled the shirt half-up to take a look, but Garak silently caught his hand and guided it up to his neck instead. 

He explored the ridges on his shoulders. Firm but flexible like cartilage, and judging by the way Garak’s breath hitched when he put his mouth to where one started just below his ear, very sensitive. His cool skin was warming up now, breath quickening. 

Julian took a step back, pulling Garak with him. Then another. His quarters usually felt small, but right now the bedroom was miles away and he was very, very keen on getting there. He tugged Garak back another few steps. 

“I see patience is not one of your many virtues,” Garak said, in an out-of-breath version of his usual light, teasing voice, and Julian kissed him to shut him up. 

“If you’re going to be rude-“ 

“Oh, it’s just an observation.”

“I’ve had just about enough of your observations.”

They only broke apart long enough to kick off their shoes before Julian sat on the bed and pulled Garak down with him. Garak was more confident with his touch now, hands sliding up his chest, his sides, holding onto his arms as they kissed. 

“Let me?” He pulled up the edge of Garak’s shirt again, and this time he relented, allowing Julian to remove it for him with an uncertain look.

Julian took a brief pause to actually look at the alien body in front of him, at his broad shoulders and strong chest, and the symmetrical, swirling patterns of grey scales and ridges that carried all the way down his torso. The pattern was ornate, like someone had carefully decorated him. It looked like armour. Next to that, Julian felt more naked than he was.

While they kissed, Garak touched his thumb to the parts of his face where there would be ridges and scales on a Cardassian, played at the bare skin of his neck, ran a hand back and forth through his hair. He was firmer now, but careful, like he was measuring out a length of cloth.

He ran his hands over the ridges on Garak’s shoulders, counting. His mind did that when faced with clusters and patterns. Seventeen thick scales on either side, and then they sunk into smoother skin. There was a teardrop shape in the centre of his chest that mirrored the one on his forehead, just below his collarbones. Then there were smaller, smoother ridges lower down, rising and falling planes like mountains far in the distance, comprised of hundreds of tiny scales, maybe- 237 there, 245 there.

“I’d love to know the evolutionary history behind these.” 

“I’m sure you would,” Garak said, and did not elaborate.

Then he went lower, ran his hands down to Garak’s waist, where he was softer and more pliant than the harder scales of his chest and shoulders. His eyes caught in shock on a pattern of white scars below his ribs - an abstracted ocean of raised lines all cut horizontally. He could tell that they’d all been made in the last few years. 

And with a cold sinking feeling, he could tell that Garak had done this to himself.

The hands on his shoulders went still as he brushed his thumb over a long, light brown scar. He found it difficult to look up at Garak’s expression. It was unreadable, guarded. 

“The implant,” Julian said, not knowing quite where he was going with that sentence. 

“Very good, doctor.” The implant was intended to help him resist torture. He’d used it to get a rush while he tortured himself. His reluctance to undress now seemed painfully obvious. 

Julian knew instinctively that he had to be careful with this. He slid his hand back through Garak’s hair, to pull him closer for a kiss while he thought. 

This was a visceral representation of just how self-destructive his addiction was. Once Julian started, he couldn’t stop thinking about how all this time, the entire time they’d known each other, there had been _this_ beneath the surface and he hadn’t noticed. Could he have, if he’d been looking for it? 

If their roles were reversed, would Garak have noticed either?

Garak sighed against his lips and remained very close, so his forehead was brushed against Julian’s. “Whatever you’re thinking, I’d advise you to stop.” 

“Smug Federation sympathy still not allowed, then?” 

“It would be considerably unwise.”

Julian stroked his stomach once, carefully, then shifted his hand up to his face to spare his discomfort. 

“In that case, I was thinking that I haven’t been with a Cardassian before. I tried to do some research.” Garak regarded him with amused interest. “I’ve read all the scientific papers I could find on the subject. That is to say, none, because you’re all so damned secretive about everything.”

“Would you want your enemies to know detailed information about your most sensitive areas, doctor?” 

“Unless you consider me an enemy, you’re going to have to give me some very detailed information indeed.”

“Wouldn’t you rather work out my secrets for yourself?” 

“I’d rather you weren’t wearing so many clothes,” Julian countered, kicking off the rest of his own and plunging deeper into a kiss while he pressed his body against Garak’s. And of course, Garak had to get up and undress precisely and carefully, allowing Julian time to drink in the sight of his pale grey thighs being exposed. 

He was completely hairless, covered instead by scales and ridges that followed his pelvic bones. There were scars there too, which Julian wisely didn’t comment on this time but couldn’t help looking at because there were so many of them, layered so thickly that when he felt bold enough to slide his hand down past his bare hip, he could feel the uneven texture slide beneath his fingers.

It served to remind him of how little he truly knew about the man he was with.

He doubted he’d ever get the full answers to his questions about Garak’s exile, or be allowed to understand the real extent of his role in the Obsidian Order. But Julian understood secrets. There were things about him that Garak could never be allowed to know. He didn’t need to know everything Garak had ever done to know that he wanted this. 

Terrifying as it was, he wanted this.

***

The doctor- Julian, now, (and wasn’t that a dangerous thought?) moved with such eagerness that it staggered him. He wanted this. He wanted to touch him. Garak had not been touched like this since- well. He didn’t like to think. Perhaps he was finally letting go of Palandine.

Julian’s skin was so smooth, unadorned by anything except fine hair in a few places, his hands thin and elegant like the rest of him - though only elegant so long as he didn’t move - and warm. His hands were so warm. All of him was so warm that Garak would happily let him touch wherever he wanted for as long as he wanted. 

He wondered if Julian understood just how exhilarating it was to be wanted, and to be able to evoke such visceral pleasure in another being. 

It was a good thing Julian had met few enough Cardassians to find him exotic. If he got the chance to see what an attractive young male looked like, Garak would never have had a chance. 

As it was, Julian was very eager. He wanted to touch everything and he wanted to know what it was all called and then he wanted to touch it again while reciting the name like he was in biology classroom. It was oddly endearing. And no amount of denial in the world would cover up how good it felt to have warm hands stroking so carefully all over him or a body beneath him shivering in pleasure. That was something he hadn’t been able to give in a very long time. 

He had not intended to arrive at this point when he’d gone to Julian’s quarters. He’d wanted to apologise away from the watchful eyes and listening ears of the promenade, so that nobody heard how weak he’d been rendered by his illness. 

He’d also wanted to establish the debt. He owed his life to a Starfleet officer. In any other circumstance, that would have been extraordinarily depressing. But Julian- owing his life to Julian was more of a gift than anything. 

Knowing that this Starfleet officer had faced down Enabran Tain to save his life, had flown into Cardassian space at great risk to himself was bewildering. Julian could say he was just doing his job, and that was fine. Garak believed him. But the simple fact of the matter was that whenever he looked at that baffling young man, he saw someone who had done something for him that he would never deserve. 

Not only had he saved his life, he’d given him the forgiveness he needed to continue living it. Grateful did not begin to describe it. He was somewhere between confused and reverent.

He had not intended to kiss him.

He’d thought of it, ashamedly, the way one inevitably does when sitting in front of someone beautiful and intelligent. He’d flirted mostly to entertain himself, since the doctor didn’t seem to know what it meant - or he did, and had been kindly ignoring it to save them both the embarrassment of addressing it. But he’d never actually thought he’d get here.

Two years of exile, and he was finally giving in. If he ever saw Palandine again - though doing this was itself a kind of acceptance that he wouldn’t - she would have to forgive him this weakness. Though he suspected, with the way she’d easily fallen into this with him when Barkan was away on Bajor, that she was doing the same. He hoped she was.

Julian slumped beside him, panting, and he closed his eyes to take in the sensations of the room. The thick smell of mammalian sweat. The heat of another body pressed against his on a narrow bed, banishing the torpor from his cold bones. The sound of breathing.

Julian dragged himself up onto his elbow and looked at him with a crooked, lazy smile. Baffling, naive, infuriatingly endearing man. If it was going to be anyone, it was going to be him.

“If this was all it took to get your mind off Cardassian literature, I’d’ve done this over the lunch table.” 

“You aren’t enjoying _Meditations on a Crimson Shadow_ , then?” Julian groaned and pressed his face into his neck like he was trying to hide in it. “No, no. You were the one who brought it up. Tell me, doctor. What do you think the ‘crimson shadow’ actually means?” 

This was safe. Books. Literature. Neutral concepts to argue over. Safely. No sentiment involved. 

"I haven't even got halfway through yet."

"So?"

Julian hitched himself up again just to stare down at him in utter disbelief. Garak made sure to look innocent and expectant. He allowed himself the luxury of pushing back the man’s hair from his forehead, where it had started to curl with sweat. Julian kissed him again- it must be far more common for humans than Cardassians, because he seemed to do nothing else.

“Fine. I thought it referred to the Klingon Empire, or the horrors of war. Maybe treason, because of Atari’s subplot. But since I haven't _finished_ it-" he punctuated that by biting Garak's lip, "-I can't make an informed guess."

“Ah. All valiant proposals.”

“But all naive and incorrect, I suppose?” Julian wryly said, resting beside him again, warming him, casually stroking the scales on his chest like it was nothing. He had a charming confidence with these casual intimacies that Garak had never managed to achieve.

“Not at all. The title is open to interpretation. In fact, there are several competing theories on the subject. Preloc himself frequently declined to explain which meaning he intended.”

“How Cardassian of him. What do you think the crimson shadow is supposed to be, then?”

“I think it represents the Klingon Empire, and war, and treason. And also sacrifice, and regret, and loss.”

“That’s cheating,” Julian snorted, and he felt the hot gust of air against his shoulder. To be so close to another person, to be safe with them...it was indescribable. He kept his eyes open, kept himself alert. Books. Literature. Preloc.

“I don’t think so. If it can be any of those things, then by extension it is all of them.” 

“They’re all true,” Julian dubiously echoed Garak’s words from earlier. “But Preloc can’t have meant it to mean all those things at once.” 

“If he hadn’t, don’t you think he would have specified?”

“Not if he was anything like you.” 

“And what could you possibly mean by that, my dear doctor?”

Julian shifted up again so he could smile down at him. That face… Preloc. Preloc. Literature.

“It means that you are infuriatingly unspecific about the truth, and when you are specific, it usually means you’re lying,” Julian said, and the fondness of it threatened to overwhelm him.

They were both sticky and frankly disgusting, yet somehow he was warm and comfortable in a way he hadn’t been for years. This felt good the way the implant felt the first time he activated it remotely- no. It felt like the first time he slipped a blade between his legs. Pleasure at the cost of self-destruction. This kind of intimacy was dangerous.

He swallowed and shifted uncomfortably.

“Perhaps I could find you something a little more liberal-minded to suit your bland Federation morality.” 

“Liberal-minded? On Cardassia? I’d like to see what that looks like. Don’t you get executed for that, or something?” 

“Inevitably. One wonders why people bother writing blatantly seditious books that will only get them killed, knowing the book will be banned regardless. It’s always safer to be ambiguous with these things. But the young and naive never seem to understand the virtues of _subtlety."_

Julian huffed. “The young and naive are keeping you warm tonight, so be nice.” 

Tonight, yes. But would this happen again? 

He could almost forget the constant chill of the station and the lights and the pain starting to creep back into his head. He could not forget exile, but close- he could live with it. 

Garak sighed. “For the next two hours, yes.”

Julian raised his head and frowned, a crease forming between his brows. It was a favourite expression of Garak’s. “You won’t stay?”

“The security officers change shifts at midnight. I ought to be able to leave then without the new guard knowing how long I’ve been here.” 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were paranoid. What’s the harm in one security officer seeing you?” 

Julian really didn’t know. He didn’t understand Tain’s power. He’d never felt the fear of being watched, hunted, dissected by a gaze he couldn’t see. Garak felt the urge to shake him, to tell him everything. But the stronger urge was to protect him from it. 

“Because one security officer will tell another, who will tell three more. Rumour will spread among the Bajoran staff that the young, brash Starfleet doctor has spent the night with a Cardassian, and one believed to be a dangerous spy, no less. When it reaches Quark, the whole station will know of it. That includes your medical staff, your patients, your friends, not to mention Major Kira and Constable Odo, one of whom will inevitably inform Commander Sisko...”

Julian still didn’t look convinced. Garak wanted nothing more than to lie here all night and soak in his warmth, but he had no desire to see what Julian looked like when he regretted this in the morning, especially not if the young man’s career was hurt over him. 

“There’s no sense in both of us being pariahs, Julian.”

Julian’s expression shifted into something unbearably soft and he looked away, wishing he hadn’t said anything. However pitiful his condition was, the last thing he wanted was to be pitied.

“I think people can be more accepting than you give them credit for,” Julian softly said, reaching out to touch his cheek. Did he know how visceral a need burned in him for those simple touches? These were things denied to him during the many years of his exile, things denied to him most of his life, even, and now Julian now handed them out like they were nothing.

 _Not everyone is as good as you_ , he thought, but couldn’t say. Julian’s faith in people was never-ending, it seemed. Garak thought about telling him all the times he’d had slurs thrown at him on the station, but that would only make that pitying look worse.

“I’d rather not put that to the test,” he said instead. “Exile would not suit you.” 

Julian was silent then, which was always concerning from a man who had so much to say about everything. He looked troubled by something silent and dark. 

“Perhaps this will allow you to live out your odd fascination with espionage,” Garak suggested. 

_But what is this?_

A quirk of a smile, and he was back again. “Is that what you did in the Obsidian Order, then? Sneak around seducing people?”

Interesting. He didn’t betray a hint of fear of the Order. Perhaps because he wasn’t Cardassian, or because he was naive. Still, it was...odd.

“Sneaking, yes. Seducing beautiful Starfleet officers? Unfortunately not.” 

“Who says I didn’t seduce you?” Julian countered.

Garak admired him in amusement. The dim lights cast a glow around him, the sweat on his thin shoulders shining. He certainly had, but not on purpose. 

“I introduced myself to you first, if you recall.” 

“Maybe that was all part of my cunning plan.” 

“Hmm. Then you are far more devious than I give you credit for.” 

“Thank you. Now,” Julian shifted onto his knees and leaned forward again, bracing his damp, warm hands on Garak’s face so vision was entirely taken up by him. “Did you say we still have two hours until the shift changes?”

“Approximately.” Garak tilted his chin up and their noses brushed together when he spoke. 

“That’s a long time, if you think about it.”

“I suppose it is. How do you suggest we pass it?” 

“I’ll think of something.”

It had been so long since he’d had anything like this. If it was only this, only tonight, he didn’t want to think about what would happen in the morning when he woke up alone with nothing left to even dream of. There was a chance, a small one, that Julian wasn’t repulsed by the false hatred he’d spewed at him. That he wanted more than this. And there was an even smaller chance that he wanted as much as Garak did. Perhaps even as deeply. But he couldn’t ask. Not now. 

All he could do now was try to lose himself in the feeling of being wanted, at last. A private retreat in the centre of his exile, where he was no longer so terribly alone. 

***

After the second time, Julian caught himself drifting off once or twice. He let it happen, and came back to himself after what felt like twenty minutes.

He glanced over at Garak, who looked more relaxed than he’d ever seen him. It made him realise just how rigid Garak’s usual mannerisms were. With his usually slicked-back hair mussed, strands falling in front of his face, reclining with his eyes closed, he finally looked peaceful. 

Garak was different from anyone else Julian had been with. Not just because his skin was colder and rougher than a human’s and he was far stronger than the people he usually slept with, but because he’d known him so long before making a move. The attraction hadn’t come from an immediate lust after his appearance, like it had with Jadzia and almost everyone else he’d tried to seduce, but had grown out of getting to know him (as far as one could ever know Garak) and trying to puzzle him out. 

But it made sense. His mind constantly sought after stimulation, always seeking work to do and puzzles to solve to occupy itself. That was what made medicine so satisfying. And that was what made Garak so attractive. Everything he said and did was a mystery to solve that seemed to have no right answer.

Garak wasn’t asleep. He sat up, looking lazily down at Julian with half a smile. It was sad, that smile. Julian couldn’t figure out quite why. Another mystery.

From this angle, he could see the craggy expanse of Garak’s back. There was a pair of low ridges that followed the edges of his shoulder blades, 67 raised scales in an arc on the left, 70 on the right. He couldn’t help counting, his brain did it without his permission. And there were more dense, thick scales covering his upper back. Evolved for protection, Julian assumed. 

He sat up and reached out to run his hand over them, curious about the texture. At the base of his neck they were surprisingly smooth, a little damp from sweat, and he could feel the edge of each scale as it ran beneath his fingers. 

“Does your scientific curiosity know no bounds?” Garak’s voice had taken on a more relaxed quality than it usually had. Lower, less exaggerated.

“It feels nice. I mean, uh. Your scales. They’re nice to touch.” 

“Hmm. Feel free to continue your studies, doctor.” Garak had closed his eyes again, relaxed.

Permission to continue. He stroked carefully along the grain, cautious of snagging them by mistake. When the patterns in the scales became clear, he was able to discern scars among them, where their growth had been warped. Very old scars, judging by how pale they were. Perhaps even older than he was. Faint lines, patches of warped scales that weren’t evenly distributed like the ones on his stomach and thighs. Not self-inflicted. 

He didn’t think there was a balance of suffering in the universe; that people who suffered ought to be able to go on to make others suffer the same way they had without recourse, or that once a person had suffered enough for doing something terrible, all their crimes were absolved. It was complicated, this idea of forgiveness. 

Maybe that was what the business with Tahna Los was about, and the Cardassian orphans. And people said Garak had been seen in the cargo bay when Natima Lang escaped the Cardassians. Maybe all that was some kind of atonement. Maybe the point was that he was trying.

There were a lot of things about Garak he’d never understand.

He didn’t know why he was thinking about all this now. Debating morality with himself wouldn’t get him any closer to figuring out the mess of feelings that had stirred up when it came to Garak. There was no use trying to justify this to himself, when he’d leapt in headfirst already.

“I was thinking-”

“Hmm. Careful, doctor. I believe that’s poisonous to humans.” 

“ _I was thinking,_ this isn’t just a one-time thing, is it?” 

Artless. Stupid. He cursed himself immediately as he felt tension creeping into the muscles beneath his hands. Garak smoothed back some of his hair, refusing to look at him. 

“You are under no obligation, of course.” His voice sounded carefully neutral.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Silence. From Garak, it was unnerving. Julian shifted around so he could see his face properly, and so he could attempt to have a reasonable conversation like a reasonable adult without botching it, for once in his life. 

“Well, I’d like to do this again,” he said, keeping it casual for the moment. He also had to keep in mind that Garak was still barely out of withdrawal. The massive chemical change his brain had undergone would be affecting his emotional state for a long time. 

“You haven’t had enough excitement yet?” 

“Every day is a new adventure with you, Garak.” 

That earned him a laugh, and Garak turned his head to look at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“And with you, doctor. But whatever happens between us, I have only one condition: absolute secrecy.” His tone had sharpened. 

Julian wondered vaguely if his reputation on-station would really take so much of a hit from this. A Starfleet officer and suspected Cardassian spy on a Bajoran station...yes, it would. And his Starfleet superiors would probably not be pleased. Garak was right. Which was unfortunate, because he quite liked arguing with him when he wasn’t. 

“Alright. I can do that.” 

“Are you certain? I’ve noticed that humans are quite fond of parading their relationships around on the public stage.”

“This particular human can keep a secret when it suits him, thank you,” Julian bristled. A final, searching look, and Garak nodded. 

“In that case-” he slid off the bed and rolled his shoulders, stretched out his neck and began to pick up his clothes from the floor. “Computer, time.” 

_“The time is 2547 hours.”_

“Unfortunate. May I use your bathroom?” 

Julian blinked. Was that a yes or a no? 

“Um- sure.” 

Garak bowed his head and disappeared into the small bathroom with his bundle of clothes. 

Had that been a yes? 

Julian only managed to put on his underwear before he had to sit down again to contemplate. 

Most of Garak was still cut off behind a great steel wall that Julian couldn’t hope to cut through. But he wanted to, that was the thing. He wanted to know him. Maybe it said something about him that he wanted to throw himself up against an impenetrable wall rather than seek out affection from a more reasonable source.

And Garak, what did he want? He’d been the one flirting all this time, he’d let Julian see things he was obviously ashamed of, and the way he kissed him...that wasn’t a lie. 

He’d used the word _relationships_.

A few minutes later, Garak reemerged from the bathroom, clean, dressed, and perfectly put together. 

“Was that a yes?” Julian only asked to spare himself the torture of constantly worrying over it for the rest of the night. He’d already been awkward a dozen times. Garak would just have to forgive him being awkward again.

“Was what a yes?” Garak sat on the end of the bed to put on his shoes. 

“You never actually said if you want...” 

He didn’t even know what he was asking. What did he want Garak to want?

“Forgive me. I thought my feelings on the matter were painfully obvious.” 

“Oh. Right.”

A cold feeling settled into him and he looked away, trying not to look disappointed or embarrassed or whatever strange mix of emotions had bubbled up just then. 

Garak slid closer to him and he looked up in surprise. His expression was uncertain, almost reverent. 

“I thought you were supposed to be the optimist. Please allow me to make myself clear.” 

He leaned closer, hand creeping up to his shoulder, and Julian caught the scent of damp hair. Instead of kissing him, Garak pressed his forehead against his and rested there for a few seconds, eyes closed, just breathing. It felt- intimate. Somehow more so than what they’d been doing ten minutes ago.

Oh.

He wanted- 

Garak really wanted-

Oh.

A tiny kiss on the lips, and Garak pulled back again. 

“Elim.” Garak was right; his name was intimate. It felt like a gift he wasn’t quite ready to receive, or one Garak hadn’t quite been ready to give, packaged oddly and transmitted through someone else. “You do want, um?”

“Against my better judgement.” Garak stood up, and the usual mask was firmly back in place. “Until we meet again, doctor.”

“There’s no need to be so dramatic. I’m seeing you in the infirmary tomorrow, remember?” They needed to keep a close eye on the headaches he’d been having since the deactivation of the implant.

“It seems almost as though you have an ulterior motive for luring me back to that dreadful place every 26 hours.”

“Just my evil, nefarious scheme to look after your health.”

Garak hummed. “Is that what you’re calling it these days?” 

His expression invited a kiss, so Julian stood up and gave one, with just a brief tangle of his hand in Garak’s hair, enough to rumple it again. 

“Goodnight...Elim.” 

A hint of softness, before it was hidden behind the mask again and he smoothed back his hair with a pointed look. 

Note for later: first names were powerful. Use sparingly. 

“Goodnight, Julian.”

Second note for later: after a year of _doctor_ , _Julian_ was a startlingly cool drink in the middle of the desert, or a patch of moonlight breaking through a thick canopy of trees. 

The doors hissed shut behind Garak’s retreating back, and his quarters felt large and silent without him.

Third note for later: whatever this was, however dangerous this was, he knew one thing for certain: he felt better than he had in weeks.

And now, he had something better than lunch to look forward to.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] the danger of intimacy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28367844) by [GoLBPodfics (GodOfLaundryBaskets)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodOfLaundryBaskets/pseuds/GoLBPodfics)




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